Summer Haze
by landsliding
Summary: "Do you think we'll spend every summer like this? Together, I mean." Finn and Rachel and twenty-five summers, together and apart.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: New story! It all started with the line 'we were born and raised in a summer haze' from Adele's 'Someone Like You' and turned into _this_. Welp, it's gonna be quite the journey. This story'll consist of twenty-five chapters in different periods throughout Finn and Rachel's life together (and apart). The chapters will appear in no specific order and every single one of them will exist throughout a duration of the summer. Well, enjoy! Reviews make the world go 'round, just saying.

...

**SUMMER HAZE  
><strong>**CHAPTER ONE**

...

Cherry smoothies with a hint of vanilla. Those are her favorite, and he takes note to it.

"You didn't have to," she's sure to tell him every single time. It's a Wednesday? She doesn't want his smoothies. It's a Thursday? She _still _doesn't want his smoothies. If she's feeling up to it by Friday, she'll wait out on her front porch until he shows up around eight o'clock with a smoothie in hand and an exhausted grin.

Friday she rises up from the chair she's sitting in, dropping the can of bug repellant she's got in her hands to the wooden floor of the porch. Turning to face him, she pivots on one foot, lets her brunette locks sway at her shoulders and fiddles with the buttons on her coral-colored cardigan.

"I had to," he says, walking up the steps of the porch and pulling out two unwrapped straws from his pocket.

"No," she begins, "you didn't."

He tries his hard not to be fidgety; not to be nervous. Once his eyes lock with hers, he can't help to be anything but. She's just Rachel Berry, sure, but her glassy, almost-broken glance isn't one of comfort, and it's not like it makes him feel like less of an asshole or anything. He gulps once, then, "Take it."

"I don't want your smoothies."

"You don't want me either," he says, head ducked. He doesn't plan for it to come out like that. Hell, he doesn't plan for it to come out at all. But it does, and he can hardly feel pity for himself after he catches her narrow-eyed glare. It stings a little, sure, but he can't feel any pity.

"Maybe you're right," she says almost instantly, causing him to arch his brow. "Maybe I don't want you. Not when you're like this anyway. Look at you, Finn. You... you ended something you jumped back into without thinking by... well... not thinking. Again. You must _really_ care for Quinn if you're willing to turn this relationship into a game of tug o' war."

"English please?" He laughs, squatting and plopping himself down on the first step of her porch, waiting for Rachel to sit beside him.

She only stands, hovered over him like she's superior. Sure, he knows she's just standing there to stand, but he can't help but to feel like something lesser when he lets his gaze catch onto her fiery, irked one.

"Why on earth were you so willing to end things with Quinn this time around?"

Shrugging, he leans over and starts to pick out random pieces of grass from her lawn, his mind soon drifting elsewhere.

"So I suppose you haven't come up with a reason, hm?"

Shaking his head, he breathes heavily. "Is the fact that I was getting tired of her good enough?"

Rachel lets out a snicker. "Well, isn't that just fantastic? You may not be the most perfect boyfriend in existence, but I sure as hell didn't take you as the kind of boy that'd become bored with his girlfriend and grew a sudden urge to move onto the next."

"You're the next," is all he answers.

"So I suppose you'll recycle me too, huh? You and I will go at this thing for a little while - two or three months tops - and then you'll trade me in for someone else? Wonderful, Finn, wonderful."

"You know," he breathes, "I don't just come visit you night with a cherry smoothie for nothing. Also, it's got a hint of vanilla. Just a hint. I remember you saying you liked it better that way."

Arching her brow, she lets out a huff, then sits on the step above him, letting the bottom of her flat scrape against the step he's sitting on. "You remembered?"

"Yes ma'am," he laughs. "Last summer we went to the movies like, every day. And I'd get the banana smoothie and every time I offered to give you a sip, you'd reach into your pocket and throw a five-dollar bill onto the counter. And you'd wait in line until you watched the stupid guy with the lisp behind the counter squeeze out the vanilla extract with your own two eyes. I remember."

"So," she chuckles, "let me get this straight. You've been bringing me cherry smoothies for the past two weeks because you've got a sudden longing for the past, or...?"

"Don't you ever miss it?"

"You have Quinn."

"I don't _want_ Quinn."

Snatching the smoothie from the step it sits on, Rachel tears off the cap and lifts it to her mouth.

"I brought straws," he says, reaching into the pockets of his khaki shorts. "Two of 'em."

"Well," she laughs, "don't complicate it. I'm sure drinking straight out of the cup won't kill me."

"Want me to stay?" He asks, looking at her up and down. He doesn't stare for too long, but when he does, he catches the way her sundress moves to the barely-there wind. He catches the way she rolls up the sleeves of her cardigan - right to her elbow on both sides. He catches the way her untamed hair hangs loose by her shoulders, hardly brushed yet hardly far from perfect. It's like looking at some sort of doll or something, he thinks. Only, the doll's locked up in a glass case and shouldn't really be viewed by anyone.

"What?" She asks fervently.

He guesses he's that rule breaker, that one boy in the window of the toy shop who's being tugged on both arms and yet still can't let go. Corny, sure, but he can't help it. It's how he feels, and Rachel Berry doesn't make it any easier on him.

"I'll stay with you," he says. "If... if you want."

"You don't have to," she says, bringing the smoothie up to her lips and licking the rim of the cup. "I mean, you _could_ if you'd really like to. It's not like I'm ever doing much, anyway."

"It's summer," he tells her. "You're not supposed to be doing a lot. I mean, my idea of fun would've been hanging out here all night, but what'd you have in mind?"

"Not in mind, exactly, but it'd be nice to be like everyone else," she starts. When he shuffles in his spot, letting his legs dangle off of the porch and onto the grass, she ducks her head. "Ask me how many of those parties I've been invited to. Santana's pong party; Brittany's pool party; Noah's 'let-me-see-how-many-people-I-can-get-drunk-and-on-a-trampoline' party. I knew about all of them, but it's not like anyone really _wanted_ me there."

"You don't even drink," he says. "And besides, it's not like you missed anything major. A few drunken karaoke numbers by Puck and Santana, an overly-drunk Artie being carried into the pool by an even more-drunk Puck..."

Rachel rolls her eyes.

"Maybe he was a little bit stoned, too," Finn adds. "We all were at some point."

"Yeah, everyone besides me," she says, almost pouting.

"You're a good girl," he says, letting the palm of his hand graze her knee almost unnoticeably. "What's a girl like you gotta get drunk and stoned for?"

"What's everyone in our neighborhood gotta get drunk and stoned for?" She has a point, but he says not a word. "You know, I shouldn't even worry about them. It's not like I'll ever be included in any of these shenanigans."

"I don't see why," he shrugs. "I mean, you _did _host like, the third coolest party of the year."

"Don't remind me," she says, burying her head in her lap. "The 'Rachel Berry House Party Train Wreck Extravaganza' was just that... minus everything but a train wreck."

"I had a little bit of fun," he says. "A little."

"You don't have to lie for me," she tells him. "You've never lied for me before. Please don't start."

He wants to ask her why she's letting her hand lazily graze his thigh. He wants to ask her if she feels the same way he does when she sits out on the porch with him. He wants to ask her why the hell she just couldn't take the damn smoothie on Wednesday. Thursday, even.

But he doesn't because he's a coward. It's one of the only things he feels about himself these days. He's a coward.

"So," he breathes, "good smoothie, huh?"

Tilting her cup over, she lets out a shrug. "You want a sip?"

He nods, then proceeds to silently curse himself out. Fucking coward.

Lifting the cup over to him, she lets a drop of smoothie leak out onto his nose, then laugh once he tilts his head up and lets it drip down even farther.

"Let me get that," she says, laughing. Leaning her body right over his, she takes her tiny index finger and almost traces the outline of his nose throughout the smoothie. Once she's done, she dips her finger in between her lips, presses down on it and licks every bit of the smoothie off.

"Damn."

"Sorry," she giggles coyly. "I couldn't help myself on that one."

_Try being m_e, he thinks. He can never help himself when it comes to her. Ever.

...

He thinks it's dumb of Santana to purposely go out of her way to make sure Rachel's left off of every possible party list in existence.

He manages to get her to come with him for a round of manhunt at Puckerman's house one Monday night and even though she's hesitant at first, she shows up with her own flashlight, an extra pair of Duracell batteries and a fanny pack.

"Well, we're not going camping, but if you'd like us to point you to some woods, I'm sure me and a few others wouldn't mind driving you on down and tossing you over by the bushes." Finn watches the way Santana speaks, disgust and anger filling her voice as she looks at Rachel up and down, her top lip pressed against the bottom.

"She'll be on my team," Finn says, stretching his arm out so it's around Rachel's shoulders.

She bites her lip but says nothing. He watches her stand there almost helplessly, taking every word Santana spits out at her without a single utter of self-defense. It hurts him, sure, but he's also relieved because, well, he's almost sure he isn't the only coward around.

"Hey," he turns to her with a whisper, "ignore 'em. You're on my team and I'm not sure if you know this, but I'm pretty kick ass when it comes to games like these. 'Specially manhunt."

Rachel nods. "Great."

Santana splits everyone else into teams, pointing for Finn and Rachel to start over by the bushes beside Puck's car. "You two may as well give up now," she says, laughing. "I mean, everyone knows Puckerman and I kick ass at manhunt."

Finn only laughs, lets his hand glide up Rachel's wrist and whispers, "C'mere."

"Try to keep it in your pants!" Puck yells over everyone, giving a wink in both Finn and Rachel's direction.

Letting out a disgusted snicker, Rachel pivots on her left foot and turns away from Finn in almost an instant. "Well isn't _that_ just lovely?" She calls out over her shoulder, ducking her head to the floor.

"Rachel," Finn breathes, walking up behind her, his breath hot on her exposed shoulder, only the strap of her tank top covering it. "Listen," he whispers, "you can't stay mad at me forever. And... and you can't be annoyed at everything Puckerman says. He's... Puckerman. Oh, and you can't listen to Santana. I... I _do_ know how to play this game. Kind of... good, actually."

"_Well_," Rachel corrects him, his brow arching, "you play the game kind of _well_. And for the record, I've given up being angry at you."

"Given up?"

Nodding, she looks to him. He thinks it's the first time she's made eye contact with him all night, but he shakes that off and manages to smile back toward her, even though she's angry and frustrated and everything else, too.

"What do you mean you've 'given up'? You can't just get rid of me, y'know."

"I know that," she breathes, folding her arms at her chest. "And I'm not getting rid of you. Think of this as me getting rid of my _feelings_ for you."

"Feelings?"

"Look," she mutters, turning on her feet and walking toward the side of the house, "we're supposed to be crouched over by that bush. At least, that's what Santana said and, well, we may as well obey her. To tell you the truth, she kind of scares me."

"You scare me more," he blurts out.

"Excuse me?" Brow raised, Rachel turns away with a huff, strutting over to the bushes and crouching down on her knees. She uses one arm to pull the garbage can that's rested in the Puckermans' driveway over to her and hides right behind it.

Hurrying over to the bushes, Finn uncomfortably crouches down next to her, hitting his foot on the back of the can. Squatting, he lets out a sigh, then brings his hand to the small of Rachel's back. "You're not a scary person or anything," he says, "but you do scare me. Like, one day you're really, really nice to me and the next you hardly talk to me. You'll call me to see what I'm doing one night and then the next day you'll avoid me like the plague or something. Why, Rachel? Am I that bad of a person? Or do you just hate me? I think I could deal with being a bad person but just... just don't hate me, alright?"

Giggling, she brings her hand up to his cheek and rests it there for a moment. He manages to fidget a little, but it's not like it makes her bring it down or turn away from him completely. Looking him straight in the eyes, she lets out another laugh, then, "I could never hate you."

"You couldn't?"

She shakes her head. Leaning forward, she lets her hand graze the top of his thigh. He fidgets once more, lets out a deep breath and leans back so hard his head's in the bushes.

"Well," she breathes, "I'd like you a little more if you didn't end up catching Poison Ivy after tonight, but..."

Laughing, he sits up quickly, takes his hand and twirls a strand of her hair resting just on her shoulder. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me."

"Then I won't," he says, laughing.

He thinks she wants to kiss him or something, because she's leaned forward and her lips are pressed together and she's glowing - he knows glowing's a good thing, always - and she's actually forming a smile and she just looks _happy_. He doesn't initiate anything, though, because he's pretty sure she'll retaliate if he tries, so he just sits there. Sure, he looks like a fool, but he just sits there.

Taking a deep breath, Rachel leans forward, breathes a little more and then shrugs. "These bushes really do itch."

"Yeah."

Letting out what seems to be an endless sigh, Rachel stands up on her toes, reaches out her hand to grab his and sways it to the side when he doesn't. "You're not coming?"

"Coming where?"

"We need a better hiding place," she tells him. "Somewhere less... well... like this."

"Why?" He asks, fiddling with the unbuttoned button on his flannel instead of paying her any attention.

"Because," she says, almost in annoyance, "it's not private enough. I can practically hear Santana coming up the side of the house now. And I think she's got a water gun."

"Why run away?" He says, still planted on the grass. He picks at a few leaves on the bush, paying no attention to anything else going on. With a shrug, he nods for Rachel to sit back down. She doesn't. "You know, if you run now, she'll catch you quicker. And spray you with that water gun you say she's got. And I'm pretty sure you'd rather not be soaked."

Stomping her foot on the dirt, Rachel only groans. "Please," she hisses, waving her hand, "just come on."

He can't say no now, no matter how hard he tries. Lifting himself off of the ground, he holds out his hand. It takes two seconds for Rachel to grab onto him, three seconds for the two of them to sprint to the awning in the driveway, and four seconds for both Puck and Santana to aimlessly squirt a gallon of water all over them.

"Shit," he curses, unknowingly letting his hand graze Rachel's soaked backside with a chuckle.

"Oh my goodness," she laughs, "look at us. We're a mess."

"Tell me about it," he breathes in her ear, taking one hand and running it through his damp hair, shaking his head so it's off and away from his forehead. "But you do look kind of cute like this."

"Wet?"

"Always," he nods, takes her hand and tells her he's got those super-sized towels back at home.

She only asks him where he's parked the car.

...

She's dried off after an hour of laying out on Finn's deck, one of his towels practically dwarfing her. She sprawls herself across his couch after he begs her to just have a seat, lets out a sigh and closes her eyes.

"What if I fall asleep on the couch?" She asks, opening one eyelid and leaning her head up from the armrest she's sunken deep into. He guesses she hears his footsteps, his small steps toward the couch, his hands deep down in the pocket of his jeans.

Shrugging, he looks to her once, then lets out a breath. Taking slow strides until he's at the end of the couch, he sits down. "Then you fall asleep on the couch," he says, almost indifferently.

"And you'd be alright with that? Your _mother_ would be alright with that? Finn, I'm pretty sure Burt and Kurt wouldn't be alright with that, would they?"

"Who cares?" He shrugs. "You're my friend and there's no way I'm gonna let you go home by yourself after tonight. You were soaked. And you look tired. And maybe hungry. Are you hungry? We've got food in the kitchen."

Leaning up, she presses her lips together, then lets out a little chuckle. "I could go for a midnight snack," she tells him. "W'do'u got?"

"Everything," he shrugs. "Literally. You like to bake, right? We could... we could try and bake something."

"We could," she says, lifting her body off of the couch and practically sprinting to the kitchen door. "Come on!" She calls out from behind her, laughing a little as she grabs the doorknob.

Biting his lip, he takes her hand, opens the door to the kitchen, boosts her up on the counter and reaches in one of the cabinets for mix - any mix.

"Banana bread sound okay?" He asks, throwing the box down in her lap gently.

Pressing her lips together with a nod, she runs her finger over the flap on the box twice, then looks up to him. "Perfect."

It isn't forced and it isn't rushed. It just kind of... happens. And he can't say he minds. Not that cooking with Rachel Berry's more special than doing anything else with Rachel Berry, but it's pretty special. Not to mention that she's actually looking at him.

She's digging her fingers into the flour bag, pinching a bit of flour between her index finger and her thumb and flicking it at his nose. With a laugh, she reaches her hand out and wipes the tip of his skin. "There," she says, "all better."

Each time he tries and grabs the broom to sweep and she hoists her body up off the counter, snatches the broom from him and tells him she's better with housework anyway.

The first two batches come out wrong and Finn blames it on Rachel. "You distracted me."

"Will that forever be your excuse?"

"Maybe."

Two hours and four batches later, they make something edible.

"Now what?" Finn asks, dropping his fork into the empty baking pan.

"Now we wait," she says with a nod, licking the last bit of banana bread from her own fork.

He's not sure what she means, exactly, so he reaches his hand out to the top of her lip, clears his throat and tries his hardest not to chuckle. "You've got banana bread on your lip." And she does. She's got crumbs on the top of her lip and even though it looks almost adorable, he takes his napkin and wipes it for her.

"I could've gotten that," she says.

"Yeah, but," he begins, "it was better doing it together."

...

Cherry smoothies with a hint of vanilla. Those are her favorite, and he takes note to it.

She's sick the second week in July and he figures he may as well visit her because he's done helping Burt down at the tire shop for the night and Puck's got other plans.

He sets down the cherry smoothie on the top of her coffee table, not forgetting to grab a coaster from the edge because, well, she _always_ scolds about the importance of using coasters every single time he fails to do so. "There," he says, "coaster _and_ a smoothie."

"Perfect," she laughs, nestling herself even further into the pillow she's resting on. "But you should go. I'm contagious."

"As if," he chuckles, kneeling down beside her. "You know, you're kind of more fun to hang out with than Puckerman. Kind of."

"Well, I'm flattered."

"You should be."

"I am."

And he kisses her. He doesn't know where it comes from or why exactly he does it, but he kisses her. She's talking one minute and he's talking too, even if his palms are sweaty in the pockets of his jeans and she looks a little distraught, her head sleepily collapsing into her pillow. He kisses her anyway, the smell of cool mint on his breath and a smell of sickness on hers.

"I... I'm sick," she says, pulling away, letting her head fall to her pillow once more.

"And who's to say you'll never be sick again when I'm with you?"

"What... what do you mean?"

He takes a breath and really, he knows it isn't necessary, but he tells her anyway. He tells her that one day - maybe years from now - she might come down with a cold and he'll still be there anyway, his lips not far from hers. "What then? You'll make me back away if you've got a cold. What if we get married? What if one day, you and I decide to get married and you come down with the flu. I'm not supposed to kiss you for like, well, however long the flu lasts? That's craziness."

She arches a brow. "And this isn't craziness? I was sitting in my living room practically sick to my stomach and you _kissed _me. You brought me a smoothie and then you kissed me."

"It's a good deal," he laughs. "I mean, the smoothie part..."

"You mean both parts," she corrects him, sitting up in her spot and letting her hands fall to her lap and then slowly graze over to the tip of his wrist. "You don't regret kissing me. You... you're just afraid _I'll_ regret you kissing me."

"I was right," he says breathily, "you _do_ scare me. It's like you know me so much I forget to be myself sometimes."

"Is that a good thing?" Intrigued, she lets go of the hold she's got on his wrist and slides her right hand under the cover she's clutching onto.

"Do you want it to be?"

"Don't ask me that."

He only cocks his brow, then grows nervous. He's not sure, really, why he's nervous, but something about her is making him nervous and he just grows more and more anxious; he's afraid of saying the wrong thing or really saying anything at all.

"Ask _yourself_ that," she tells him. "Ask yourself whether it's a good thing or not. Do you feel right about it or not?"

"Can I get back to you on that one?"

Lifting his hand with her own, she brings it close to her mouth. Pressing her lips together, she gives his skin a little peck, then sets it down on the couch beside her. "You know, you can spend the night if you want to."

"I want to."

And they fall asleep on the couch just like that. Of course, his body's too big to really _fit_, but she scoots over as much as she can, her heated body warming his arms as he pushes up next to her. It's hot in the room even though she's got a fan blowing onto both of them and both of the windows wide open, humidity barely coming through.

"Goodnight Rachel," he turns over to her once the lamp's off and she starts to let out small, soft breaths.

"'Night," is all she answers.

"Rachel?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think we'll spend every summer like this? Together, I mean."

"If it were up to me," she breathes, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Oh. Well. Goodnight."

She turns over on his side, pecks him sweetly on the cheek and tells him to get some rest. "You wouldn't want to catch whatever I've got," she murmurs.

"S'probably too late," he shrugs even though, really, he can't be bothered to care. He's already got 'Rachel' written all over him.

...


	2. Chapter 2

**SUMMER HAZE  
>CHAPTER TWO<br>**

...

They spend the first night of summer in his truck, Rachel's Keds and her cardigan on top of the passenger seat, her body draped over Finn's in the drivers' seat.

"It's just one of those days, I guess," she mumbles into his chest, letting her tiny fingers graze up and down by his collarbone. "You really didn't have to do this."

"It's no big deal," he says softly, letting one of his hands run freely down her backside while one stays planted tightly on the wheel like the car's actually in motion. "You were upset."

"I wonder when I won't be upset about it anymore," she breathes. "I wonder when I'll be able to look at a picture of Beth and of Shelby without sobbing uncontrollably."

Shrugging, Finn says nothing.

"Perhaps never," she breathes, scooting off of Finn's lap and climbing into the passenger seat once more, grabbing her Keds and her cardigan in her hands and placing them down on her own lap. "You know, I'll never understand it. I'll never understand how someone so spectacular can make someone fall for them and then just... just throw them away."

He enjoys her company always, sure, but then there're times like these when he's got no idea how to form a reply to what she's saying. He _is _Finn, after all, and he's so afraid of saying the wrong thing that keeping quiet is always his best bet. Tonight's no different, so he shrugs one more, breathes a little heavier and takes his hand to the top of her thigh, stroking it.

"I won't throw you away," he says after a moment of pure silence. "I... I'm not sure if you meant that about me, but I won't. Promise."

He speaks really quickly, huffing between words. His palms are sweaty and he feels himself tense up, but it takes him two minutes to remind himself it's just Rachel - the girl he's been with since high school. Sighing, he taps his fingers on the skin just underneath her shorts steadily, almost making a beat.

"It might've been implied," she nods, "sure."

"She's kind of a bitch," Finn says almost out-of-the-blue, once Rachel's attention is practically elsewhere. "Shelby, I mean. She's kind of a bitch. She comes to visit you for the first time and then she leaves with a new baby and is sure to leave her oldest one behind. Then she comes back a few years later with a blue-eyed, blonde five-year-old and doesn't even think to check up on her real daughter - the one she left like, five years ago without a stupid 'goodbye' or an 'I'm sorry'. S'kind of rude, if you ask me."

"Well I didn't ask you," she gulps, taking her hand and clutching her chest.

"You didn't have to," he says. "I know when you're upset."

"You know a lot about me," she whispers, ducking her head to her lap. Finn catches her trying to hide her frown, pressing her lips together like she always does, ducking her head further and further down.

"I do," he nods. "I know you've got a notebook full of things you wish you would've said to your mom when you got the chance to. I know you've had those dreams where she comes back for you because you're her only _real _baby girl and she gives Beth back to her real parents; to Puck and Quinn. I know about that talk you and my mom had last Christmas when we were up here. Y'know, the one where she told you she'd never be the real thing but that you're always free to pretend she's a mom to you. And I know you're jealous of a five-year-old."

Pouting, Rachel brings her hand to Finn's bicep and gives him a slap. "Am not."

"S'okay," he laughs. "You're cuter. Just a little bit."

"Well, thanks," she rolls her eyes, playfully leaning her head onto Finn's arm with a sigh.

"It's what I'm here for," he tells her.

"So you can listen to my incessant whining about my mother abandoning me?" She chuckles, shaking her head. "It must be a picnic for you."

Looking up to the ceiling of the car, he presses his lips together and nods, trying his hardest not to let off a smile. "Do you remember when you and I had a picnic? I mean, it was the first time we ever really hung out together - alone, anyway. And then you -"

"Kissed me," Rachel answers. "I remember. I told you if you'd like to kiss me you could, and you agreed. So technically, _you _kissed me first."

"You kissed me back, didn't you?"

"Well..." Rachel groans, then laughs. "We _always_ have to make it even, don't we?"

Laughing, he takes her hand into his and lets out a sigh. "We wouldn't be a good couple if we didn't."

"So you think we're a good couple too, huh?" She smiles, tugging at her bottom lip with her top teeth. He doesn't even know why she bothers asking, but she does, and he doesn't stop her.

Nodding, he only grins. "Yeah, I do. We're a great couple, really. Most of the time."

"Not always."

"Nothing is perfect."

"No, but," she sighs, letting her fingertips lazily graze his kneecap, "I like to pretend we are. Sometimes."

"We wouldn't be special if we were perfect, though," he tells her. "I'm not perfect. You're not perfect. I'm pretty sure that makes us both - together, as a couple - not perfect. My dad died when I was a baby. Your mom abandoned you. You were teased throughout your entire childhood. I'm made fun of because of my weight. A lot. And there's like, a million and one other things, too."

Cocking a brow, Rachel looks to him almost apologetically, a frown on her face. "Don't say that," she says. "You're special. Your body type, I mean. It's hardly like anyone else's."

"Special, sure, but not perfect," he nods. "And I'm kind of okay with that."

Leaning back into the cushion of the seat she's sitting in, Rachel tilts her head so she's looking out the window. He watches her carefully as she presses her lips together, her eyes narrowed, a small smile forming at the corner of her mouth. "Do you think Shelby ever had this?"

Finn only arches his brow, confused.

"Do you think Shelby ever fell in love?" Rachel closes her eyes now, swaying with her head to the sound of almost nothingness, only Finn's old Journey CD playing faint, barely-there beats in the background. Tilting her head up, she looks straight to Finn, places one hand to his kneecap and taps it steadily. "Part of me thinks she hasn't. Part of me thinks she keeps up this wall - like a barrier, almost - and is in refusal of letting anyone pass through."

Finn only stays quiet because, well, she talks so, _so _much. Not that he doesn't love it, because he does; he adores it. It's just that it's hard to keep up with her at times because she's so deep and he's just so... _Finn_.

"Part of me thinks she has," she goes on. "Part of me thinks she has and she was devastated and heartbroken because whoever it was was her first love and they left her. They abandoned her."

He only whispers, "Just like she abandoned you."

Rachel says nothing, just leans her head onto Finn's shoulder and lets out a little sniffle, letting her hair brush against his shoulder with a small swift.

It's the first night he feels like he understands her one-hundred percent. They stay like that for awhile - for an hour or two, maybe. They say hardly anything; a few soft whispers and a few more faint Journey songs. But it's like they get each other more than ever right now and he couldn't like it any better.

...

Puck and Quinn are hosting some kind of barbecue over at Quinn's mom's place and Finn's not sure why he's being dragged into going, but Rachel's tugging at his wrist and telling him to put on something aside from a polo shirt.

"Please, Finn," she hisses, letting her fingers glide up and down his skin, practically crashing on his knuckles harshly, digging them into his hand. "What'll that make us look like, huh? Not showing up to a barbecue at Noah and Quinn's, I mean."

"Quinn's _mom's_ place," he corrects her. "They don't have a place. Hell, I'm pretty sure they aren't even together anymore."

"That lasted for a month," Rachel scoffs, looking down to her and Finn's joined hands, still tugging onto him as she walks over to the edge of her bed. "We'll last, won't we?"

He wonders why she asks these kinds of questions - these out-of-nowhere kinds of questions that he's afraid he's too stupid to find the answer to. He feels his hand start to sweat in hers, tugs it out and kneels at the foot of the bed, letting Rachel's dangling foot rest on the top of his knee. "W'do'u mean?"

"Well," she breathes, letting her right hand run loose up and down his shoulder, "I don't want to be like Noah and Quinn, Finn."

"We're... we're not -"

"They had a baby so, _so _young," she goes on as if he didn't just interrupt her. "They tried again and again and ended up miserable. And sure, they put on an act for all of us - they pretend they're happy and together because it's expected. Finn, I don't want people to _expect_ us to be happy. I... I just want to be happy."

"We're happy, baby," he says, leaning forward and letting his hand run up the edge of her sundress. "You... you don't think we're happy?"

"No," she breathes, "I think we're happy. I just... I don't want other people to think it's all an act, you know?"

"By 'other people' you mean...?"

Rachel only ducks her head, presses her lips together and avoids Finn's trying glance at all cost.

"Puck and Quinn don't care," Finn tells her. "They don't care whether we're together or not. I know it hurts to hear, but it shouldn't." Rachel's ducking her head and normally, it would make him kind of nervous and sweaty and cause him to stutter, but today he doesn't. Today he jolts her chin up with his fingers, brushes the tip of the skin on her jaw gently and smiles at her. "The only two people this relationship should mean something to is _us_, Rachel. Other people... they shouldn't care what we're doing."

She stays quiet, shuffling her feet to the floor of her bedroom almost indifferently.

"No one gives a damn about _anyone_ anymore," he says. "Hardly."

Rachel flattens out the material on her sundress, reaches one hand out and pats the comforter she's sitting on top of and clears her throat. "Sit."

"And," he says, leaning into her, "they won't care if we miss a barbecue. I mean, we've got like, the whole entire summer. There's bound to be more barbecues."

"_Finn_!" Rachel jumps, fidgeting in her spot on the bed. Finn only reaches out one of his hands and tickles her ribcage, causing her to jump around even more. She squirms in her spot a few more times, giggling and burying her head coyly in a pillow beside her until Finn scoops her up and places her right in his lap with a laugh.

"Hey," he whispers like he hasn't been beside her all afternoon.

"Hey," she replies, burying her head in his shoulder. "You're right."

"I'm what?" He jolts his head up, turning toward her with a chuckle. He lets his thumb run up and down her cheek almost naturally. It feels really nice, touching her cheek. She's got soft skin and it's powdery but yet not so powdery and she's just so, so pretty. He feels like leaning in her ear and whispering that to her, but he decides to just sit back and watch the way she blinks her eyelashes twice and lets out a small giggle as she twirls a strand of her hair in her hands.

"Spending a day in my room isn't such a bad idea," she says. "Better than some silly barbecue, maybe."

"And you don't care what Puck and Quinn'll think if we don't show?"

Shaking her head, she laughs, presses her palms down on Finn's shoulder and leans her body across his, practically straddling his torso. "No," she whispers, "I don't."

"That's my girl."

Rachel laughs a little, then leans forward and kisses his cheek. He knows it's the spot under his freckles and birthmarks because she sticks her tongue out a little when she pulls away and whispers a small, "there."

He likes to think that's a special spot or something, like a spot everyone sees but only _she's_ allowed to touch. His freckles are a small part of him, sure, and it's not like people point them out or anything, but it makes him feel special when the one person who means the most notices them over everything else.

"Rachel?"

"Mmm?"

"You know what I love about you?" He asks.

She sits up, intrigued. "Hm?"

"The little things," he says slowly, only smiling back at her when she shuts her eyelids and gives off a nod.

And this? It's a little thing. They're sitting in her bedroom on a Friday afternoon after skipping their way out of a barbecue, just the two of them. It's a small thing, sure, but it feels like so much more.

...

Rachel's never really had any interest in kids. Sure, she's mentioned them a few times every time Finn was asked to babysit those two twins next door during their senior year in high school, but she's never _really_ had an interest in them.

It's not like he expects her to - she's twenty-years-old and she's focused on finishing school and making something of herself so really, he's not surprised it hasn't come up. It's not so much that he'd mind or anything, because, well, he totally wouldn't. It's just that Rachel isn't ready for that kind of talk now, he knows that.

But he has this dream the night after they're done helping Burt and Carole out on the grill and she goes home to catch up on some sleep. It's not just any dream, but it's one he remembers the entire scenario to when he wakes up in the morning, throwing his covers off of his body and smiling to himself a little before actually walking out of bed. It's of Rachel and a little baby girl and him, too. He's not holding the baby girl or anything, but he's there with Rachel the whole entire time. He's not sure if it's their baby girl or someone else's baby girl but he can't stop thinking about it so he leans across his bed and to his nightstand, flips open his phone and dials Rachel without even thinking.

"Rach?"

"Mmm," she mutters, "sleepy."

"It's ten o'clock," he laughs. "You _never_ sleep past ten o'clock."

"And you're never up before noon," she murmurs. "People can surprise you sometimes."

"You... you were in my dream last night," he swallows thickly, pressing the phone even closer to his ear. When she doesn't answer, he speaks again. "With a baby."

"A baby?" She questions. He can just imagine the way she probably shoots out of the covers of her bed at that moment, her eyebrows raising in that questioning way that manages to be frightening-yet-cute all at once.

He nods. "You were really good with her."

"So it was a girl?"

"Mmm," he says, "it was a girl."

"Were you there too?"

He doesn't know if he should answer that one, so he stays quiet for a minute, then, "Maybe. I can't remember."

"_Finn_..."

"Okay," he laughs, "I was there. But... but it's not like I held her or anything."

"That's okay," she says, lazily giggling. "You'll still be a good daddy."

"Huh?" He knows she says it, but it doesn't hit him right away. Sitting up a little further, he runs a hand through his already-tousled hair and is thankful she's not there to see the hopeful smirk that peers from the corner of his lips. "Oh. Right. Maybe."

"Someday," she breathes. "Not... not now or anything, because again, I'm not ready to rush into something so serious so soon. But someday, alright? I promise."

"Yeah, sure," he says. "You don't have to like, promise me anything. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, but -"

"No," he interrupts, "you really don't."

"I want kids," she says. "Lots of them. With you."

"You do?" It's not that he's shocked, really, but he doesn't expect her to admit to him to wanting kids when she's so focused and devoted on... well... everything aside from that.

"Eventually," she tells him. "But if you don't mind, I'll be going back to sleep now. I've got about four more hours to catch up on and then it's you, me, a bowl of fruit salad and the pool all day. Goodnight. Or morning. Good morning. You know what I mean. I love you, alright?"

"Love you," he whispers softly, hanging up the phone.

He's pretty much rested and stuff, and he's hardly tired (it's a first) but he lays back down, too, letting his head hit the pillow as soon as he tucks his phone underneath. He tries to close his eyes and fall back asleep, and it's only the thought of him maybe - just maybe - having that dream again that makes him get the urge to even do so.

Rachel with a baby. Rachel and _him_ with a baby. He pictures it perfectly before he even falls asleep, almost like a dream without even dreaming.

It's just like she said: people can surprise you sometimes.

...

He only helps her out because she's crying on the front porch all alone.

_No one_ should have to sit out and cry on a front porch all alone.

"Quinn," he breathes, taking his hand and placing it gently on her knee, "you don't have to cry about it. He's... he's _Puck_. He's dumb, you know that. But... but he always comes back to you and I'm pretty sure this time isn't any different."

Jolting her head up toward him, Quinn only sniffles, burying her reddened cheeks in the sleeve of her blue-and-white cardigan. "It is," she says, "and it's all because Shelby's in town with Beth. It's always Beth."

Finn does nothing but gulp, the feel of his own throat tightening almost painful.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Quinn asks, the way she glares toward him almost frightening. It's not like he's doing anything wrong - he's helping her out because it'd be rude to just ignore it and pretend like it's not happening. He knows it's stupid of him to be sitting out on the front porch with his old high school girlfriend as she's in the midst of sobbing over her boyfriend issues, but he'd feel like a lousy person if he would've just walked away.

"Because," he says, "I came here to see Puck and found you crying on the steps of your porch instead. I figured Puck wasn't around then, but I wasn't just gonna hop back in my truck and leave. S'no fun to watch someone cry."

Ducking her head, Quinn sighs. "You're lucky," she says. "You're lucky you've got Rachel. She won't push you around to the point where you want to get out."

Finn's only silent.

"I pushed him," she says. "Puck, I mean. I pushed him to be with me. Lord knows that's not a healthy relationship, but I did. I had some stupid idea of he and I somehow getting our life back on track and finding our daughter and maybe even connecting with her again. It's... it's silly."

She starts to sob some more. Normally, Finn would gulp a bit and maybe sit around like an idiot until she calmed down a bit, but today - for whatever reason - he wraps his arm around her shoulder and lets Quinn lean her head into his own shoulder a bit. "It's not stupid," he says after everything's silent for what seems to be an eternity. "You wanting a life with Beth and Puck - that's not stupid."

"I was hoping you'd say that," she says, another small sob coming out of her quivering lips.

He curses himself under his breath once Quinn starts to thank him for all of his help, even though he's really not sure what he's done. He curses himself because really, people _can_ care about other people's relationships. He cares about Puck and Quinn's just a bit. Maybe it's because he wants them to be happy or something; maybe it's because Rachel was right all along and people _do_ care for other people no matter how hard they try not to.

"You _did_ say Shelby was in town, right?" He asks.

Quinn only nods, her lips pressed together tightly. "She is," she whispers. "But only for two more days - tops."

"Is there any way she'd want to see Rachel?"

Quinn boosts herself up from the step on the porch by pressing her palm into his shoulder, holds out her index finger and sprints inside. Not a minute later she's back outside with a pen, a torn piece of paper and a smile. "Here," she says, scribbling hard into the paper one minute, then the next holding out her hand and dropping it in Finn's palm. "Make sure that gets to Rachel."

He nods, pats Quinn on the shoulder and thanks her about seven times.

"Don't," she says, holding out her arm just as he's about to hug her goodbye. "Don't thank me, I mean. You care about Rachel, I care about Rachel and Shelby cares about Rachel, even if the bitch is too heartless to admit it. Shelby cares about Rachel."

"You do too, huh?"

Quinn nods. "Always sort-of have."

And he curses himself as he steps foot in his truck too, the piece of paper practically crumpled in his palm, because, well, his girlfriend pretty much never fails to prove him wrong even when she's the farthest from trying to.

...

He hears a small laugh through the door, then walks by and sees a small crack. He stands just outside because he couldn't imagine intruding, but he does smile every single time it's Rachel's laugh that's heard. It's just cute and it makes him happy to see her laugh even when she's in a room alone with her birthmother and the baby her birthmother adopted five years back. Of course, Beth's hardly a baby anymore, her small legs dangling from the middle of Rachel's lap, babbling on and on about a show Shelby's taken her to see seventeen times in the past four months.

Finn peeks through the door a few times, grinning from the corner of his mouth as he watches Rachel bounce the little girl with a giggle.

"So Beth," Rachel says, her hands on Beth's knees as if she's protecting her or something, "living in New York must be wonderful. I go to school in New York, you know."

"I know," Beth nods, fiddling with her own thumbs as she nervously leans forward. "Mommy says you're a star. One day, anyway."

Finn watches as Rachel calmly takes her fingers and runs them through Beth's yellow-golden locks with a smile. "Maybe," Rachel says. "Her voice and mine? _Very_ similar."

"Oh yeah?" Beth says jokingly.

Rachel nods almost proudly.

Finn feels proud too. He's not sure why, since the woman Rachel's comparing herself to practically abandoned her after reuniting with her all those years back. It makes him angry thinking about it, but all he has to do is look through the little crack in the door and watch the way Shelby gazes down to Rachel as she sits on the couch with her daughter - with Puck and Quinn's baby girl. Rachel looks like a natural, and for some reason, Finn can't hate Shelby when he realizes she thinks just the same.

"Hey," Finn walks through the door slowly after five minutes of standing in the hallway of the Berry's home, pressed up against one of the frame-covered walls. "I'm not interrupting, right?"

Rachel's the first one to look up at him, her lips pressed together with a grin, shaking her head. "Of course not," she says giggling. "Sit."

"Hi," Beth says shyly, leaning further into Rachel as Finn makes his way over to the couch in the middle of the den. "You're Finn, right?" She holds her hand out for a handshake and lets her little hand rest in Finn's for a minute as he gently holds her palm in his. It feels weird being in the same room with Shelby and with Beth because, well, she's technically the daughter Puck and Quinn gave to Shelby after Shelby decided to move on from everything she left behind in the first place, but he tries his hardest to get over it once he feels Rachel give his kneecap a squeeze.

"So Finn, I hear things are great with you. With the two of you. Rachel boasts about you like you wouldn't believe. You're enjoying college, I hear. And work. Good for you," Shelby says with a smile.

"Things are great," he nods. "Things are really great."

That's when Rachel leans forward, rests her lips on his for a minute and then pulls away, Beth fidgety in her lap.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

Shelby says nothing, but Beth blurts out the word, "gross!" and manages to lift her tiny palms over her eyelids with a giggle.

"Just wait until you're their age, Beth," Shelby laughs, leaning down and grabbing Beth by the torso, hoisting her body up just by her abdomen. "Then things won't be so 'gross' anymore."

Finn only smiles. Rachel traces her finger onto the denim covering his kneecap. It feels like she's writing a word or tickling him or something, but he doesn't bother to ask. He just lifts up her hand to his lips, gives it a little peck and waits a second for Beth to blurt out another 'gross' and cover her eyes once more.

She's right on cue. "I'm five," she says. "It's gross."

It's always the little things. Always.

...

A/N: Well, there we have it. A bit of future!Finchel for you. Pretty please review.


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